


G. Major

by liberteas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, Historical References, History, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberteas/pseuds/liberteas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story of love and regret that spans centuries, of two nations who fought and loved each other, of their shared time from the War of the Austrian Succession to the end of World War Two. Mainly PruAus, with mentions of AusHun. Translated from the original Chinese fanbook, and originally posted on fanfiction dot net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> T/N: Hello, all. I'm the humble translator for this amazing fanbook that I fell in love with. Semillon is the author of the original fanbook, which was created by Studio RS, and full credit is given for their work. I have tried to communicate with them for permission to translate their fanbook, but there have been no replies, so I went on and continued on my project anyways, because I really want everyone to be able to read and experience the beauty of this novel. Links to their blogs (in Chinese) are on my profile page. Only the translation belongs to me. I claim no credit at all for the story.
> 
> It was difficult to make the language flow as elegantly as it did in Chinese, but I did try my best to translate the novel in the same vein as the original. Updates will be slow, as I am constantly updating and editing on translations, to find phrases that I feel will fit better.
> 
> Please be kind, as I am not really confident in my ability to translate this mammoth 220 page fic, and I was hesitant to post this online because I honestly feel it is inadequate. But no one else had translated it, so I tried my best to contribute to the Hetalia community. If you find anything wanting of my translation, do please leave a review or PM me, I would be honoured to receive feedback to improve my writing.
> 
> Inside the book there are some illustrations, with snippets of the story as captions. I have translated them, and placed them below, after the prologue.
> 
> I apologise for having such a long TN but I felt it was necessary to explain everything first. Now, on to the story!

_G. Major_

Axis Powers Hetalia Fanbook: Gilbert x Roderich

 

* * *

Verweile doch, du bist so schön.

_Stay a while, you are so beautiful._

– Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

* * *

_Farewell, Silesia; Part I_

_–_ _Filostrato –_

* * *

_Love is a crime._

* * *

_Prologue_

The young king rapped his fingers nonchalantly on the red pine table with one hand, while distractedly toying with his quill. The barrel of the quill was studded with a pearl, and it glistened with a soft warm glow in the autumn dusk. It was the month of October, and Berlin was already saturated with an icy chill. The fireplace in the room had already been cleaned and swept, and it was just waiting for the weather to turn even colder and the oil-coated timber to be lit.

"Absolutely rubbish." The king waved around a piece of paper he had picked up from the tabletop, unable to hold back his grimace, "Your poem's grammar is atrocious – but your handwriting is not half bad."

"Hah," A young man with silver hair snorted derisively. "My French has never been satisfactory to you. You will just have to find a way to get over it." He looked even younger than the king, who had ascended the throne just this summer. His wine-red eyes, even with his furrowed brows, could not hide the childishness that lingered around him. He was currently curled up lazily on the couch, his long, slender legs dangling over the armrests. His riding boots were still covered in mud from the forests of Potsdam. Because his position restricted his freedom of movement, he could only see the king sitting at the table by twisting his neck. His position was about as disrespectful as one could get, but his royal companion seemed not to notice it, as if he was used to the sight already.

"Gilbert, I have said this for many times. French is an elegant, stylish language, the language of the elite, and a symbol of culture and refinement. If Prussia wants to be great, or, if you and I want to continue living in this unstable world, we must be able to understand what other people are saying, what they are doing, what they are thinking…...Language is only the first step."

"If I were powerful enough, German would also be the most elegant, stylish language in all Europe," said Gilbert. He leapt up from his sitting position and scrutinized the king sharply. The other laughed, brown eyes twinkling. "Then, my friend, you should read more of the most elegant language in the world right now, so that one day, we shall have the power and ability to seize this land…" There was a pause, then the king spoke again.

"How do you think she's faring?" The king picked up another sheet of paper that had been lying on the desk. It was gilded with gold.

"Who - what is faring how?" Gilbert squinted at the words upon the document. The king's mind was too quick, always a leap or two in front of him, and even though the words he spoke were all purposefully related in some way or other, it was still difficult to deduce what the king meant.

As usual, he did not directly unravel Gilbert's tangle of confusion, but said instead, "A woman, to become the sovereign of Austria." He laughed. "This may be the best opportunity for me in this life. No, old chap, I should say for us." He held up the quill once more, absentmindedly stroking the round, luminous pearl studded in it. In the final rays of the fading sun, that pearl glittered with light.

* * *

_Color Collection (these are beautiful illustrations of certain scenes of the book, with captions as follows)_

"Please take a look at these, my dear Roderich…"  
She raised the stack of letters on the small round table and waved it at the visitor.  
With her exaggerated motions, a letter opener fell onto the floor with a clatter.

The young woman could not help herself from crying aloud in surprise.  
At the same moment, the baby sleeping soundly in the arms of a maidservant began to cry from the sudden disruptive din.

p.3, Farewell Silesia, Part I

* * *

The quiet calm air itself seemed to be unsettled by those very words.

Gilbert spun himself around forcefully, and he saw Roderich standing between the rows of pews close to the corner where the grand doors were, wearing a long, black overcoat, as if to smother his existence from the air. His cheeks were ghostly pale. Even the candlelight could not paint the tiniest bit of colour on it.

p. 23, Farewell Silesia, Part I

* * *

The sound of hooves startles a raven, and it takes flight into the pitch black darkness of the night sky with a resonating caw.

The moon sinks slowly under the horizon, and pale azure peeks out at the other edge of the sky.  
The moon, this silent soundless ghost, returns from its rounds saturated in bitterness.

p. 66, Farewell Silesia, Part I

* * *

"God bless," Elizabeth could not help muttering.  
She turned around, wanting to see if Roderich had followed her, but found to her surprise, Austria laid prostrate in front of the altar soundlessly.

His long, black robes hung heavily and spilled onto the floor, like a pair of black, feathered wings, about to spread and unfold themselves.

p.86, Farewell Silesia, Part I

* * *

A single drop of blood landed on Roderich's cheek.

That pale face now carried the beautiful vivid colour of death, and even the dark night could neither disguise nor hide it.

Gilbert was stunned, as if he had been conquered by this malformed, grotesque beauty, staring dumbly into Roderich's eyes.

Those eyes no longer held the terror just moments before. It was replaced with cold, bleak despair, like a frozen lake in midwinter.

p. 202, Farewell Silesia, Part II

* * *

As I spoke, I pulled off the ring on my finger and tossed it inside.

"Leave, my lady! There is already nothing more I can do for you. Seek the knights of the north. They need honour, and you need bravery and loyalty!"

p. 215, Time Fragments

* * *

In one fluid motion he gathered the young girl in his arms, holding her tightly.

"Tell no one…tell no one – you mustn't tell a single soul!"

His voice changed in tone, as if it could not bear the strain any longer, like the breaking strings of a piano, stretched to their limit.

"You mustn't tell, not to anyone…"

p. 174, Farewell Silesia, Part II

* * *

Notes:

The book is divided into four sections, and each section into chapters.  
In chronological order, here they are:

Farewell, Silesia; Part I – Filostrato  
author: Semillon / illustrations: 竹中紅鈴

Farewell, Silesia; Part II – Barocco  
author: Semillon / illustrations: 竹中紅鈴

Time Fragments  
author: Semillon / illustrations: 羽山

Color Collection  
illustrations: 竹中紅鈴 Rei 羽山 Semillon

This is an ongoing work and it will be continuously edited, so it wouldn't be surprising that I will translate something twice and the wording might be tweaked a little every now and then.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are being set into motion...

**:: One ::**

"You've finally come!" The young woman, sitting straight, raised her head, and her expression of agitated worry was worn openly on her fair, round face. She was only twenty-three years old, with a high forehead, a straight nose, and her golden blonde hair was gathered behind her head in the latest fashion. Her eyes, usually clear with wisdom and fearlessness, was clouded with despondency.

"Please take a look at these, my dear Roderich…" She held up a stack of letters on the small round table, waving them around, and as she did so in an exaggerated manner, the letter-opener fell to the floor with a dull, resounding thonk. The young woman could not help a cry of surprise, and at the same time, the baby that had been sleeping peacefully in the maidservant's arms also began to cry because of the sudden din.

"Poor Carolina, she'd just fallen asleep…" The young woman sighed, and took the child from the maid's arms. She couldn't spend much time with her own daughter, but still she held the child in a practised way, humming lullabies softly, and pressing her cheek against the baby's wan face. She was a wife, the mother of two children, but at the same time she was also the daughter of the recently deceased Austrian Emperor Charles the VI, the heir to the throne, the Duchess of Lorraine.

"Her condition is getting worse," the young mother muttered. "The weather's turning colder as well, and I'm worried about her. Oh, please sit down, and don't mind my nagging - I must be getting old. First, have a look at these, Roderich. This is from Paris, that's from München, that's from Dresden and we've even got one from Naples…"

Whether it was her sickly daughter, or her 'lovely neighbours', they all made the Queen uneasy. Roderich Edelstein graced her with one of his rare smiles, intending to comfort and condole. "Do not fret, my child." He said softly. "It will come to pass, believe me. Compared to these matters, you should take better care of yourself." His gaze swept over the loose dress and the swollen abdomen of the young woman. It was apparent that in less than half a year, this mother would welcome a new life into the world once more.

"Perhaps I should take your advice, Mr. Roderich." Maria smiled. "Soon I will not be able to fit in this dress any longer. Here, this is for you." She pressed something into Roderich's hand.

"...we do not acknowledge the Pragmatic Sanction of 1713…" Roderich glanced through the contents of the letters briefly. "What your father worried about for twenty years still happened, despite his concerns, but at this point, there's nothing we can do but to continue to forge our way forward with determination." He brought his eyes up and stared into the girl who he had watched grow up. Time flew by too quickly. The little girl who would hold his hand and dash and scamper in the garden with him, and secretly wear her father's crown in front of the mirror, was only a memory from yesterday.

A flash of memory struck him at that moment.

"Roderich, is it pretty?" The girl from his memory said. In the reflection on the mirror, she had to clutch the crown with one hand, and even then, she could barely support its heavy, burdensome weight. "It's so heavy that my neck feels like it's going to snap." Her bright eyes sought out Roderich. "When I grow up, will it become lighter?"

"When you grow up," said Roderich, "it will become even heavier, my dear Maria."

He did not know whether the child understood his reply, but now, the full weight of the crown had already been placed on that blithe girl who had once been beatific and carefree.

Whether she chose to lower her head and let other people take this weight from her, or to raise her chin and bear the burden of her destiny, Roderich wanted to seek out the answer from that pair of steely grey eyes. Many decades ago, her father had already considered the future of his daughter, and hoped that by his edict, she could obtain her legal right to inherit the throne, but in reality, right now, everything still depended and rested upon those delicate shoulders.

Roderich blinked, returning to the present. "I am only slightly sad, Roderich," said Maria Theresa. "I remember that I had once danced with my brother in law, Charles. He was a rather interesting fellow, and even though he was slightly weak-willed, we all liked him. Oh, there might never be another chance like that anymore..."

"With their own interests in mind, no one is willing to remain silent. Everyone is the same. It is not them who are changing, rather, it is the world forcing them to choose their paths." Roderich said. "At least memories are beautiful; don't shatter them with reality. Let the past slumber on noiselessly, undisturbed, at peace."

"But it will wake up, and show me days I have spent. I know, we will have to fight in a war. That is why the past is haunting me so clearly right now. I am certainly not afraid of war, Roderich, I am not…" Maria's eyes were rimmed with red. "But I am also a woman, a wife and a mother. From the very core of my being, I despise battle and bloodshed with a passion. Men see the battlefield as a stage, but women see it as the grave of happiness. I would rather maintain this moderated peace then win a glorious war!"

"Yes, child, I know that as well." Roderich put down the things in his hands, and went before the monarch once again. Carolina, the young child, had relapsed into blissful sleep, and her mother handed her to the maidservant, freeing her hands.

"Let me kiss your forehead, my sun," said Roderich, and he clasped Maria's shoulders as he did so. "Although you are filled with worry, your eyes are still clear; although you are filled with grief, your heart is still brave. You are not frightened, you are not in despair. Look at me, and let me tell you truly and solemnly, my child: Austria will only acknowledge you as his queen, and he will serve you forever."

Maria chuckled. "Having you come here was a correct decision, my Roderich. I believe I already feel much better. However, I would want to know, what of your memories? You have lived so much longer than I have, and you must have many memories of the past that you cannot forget. Do you mean to tell me that you leave them to slumber undisturbed as well?"

Maria felt the hands on her shoulders tremble, and when she tried to meet Roderich's violet eyes, his line of sight had already shifted beyond the window. His gaze had no destination, that crystal clear gaze wandering.

"That is impossible, my child." Roderich replied lightly. "Of course I wish them to be silent, but they always awaken…"

There was a series of knocks on the door. "Your Majesty, there is a letter from Berlin, just received, that requires your personal attention."

"Thank you, please come in," said Maria, but Roderich had already seized the moment of distraction when she was speaking to dart towards the open door where the servant was already striding through. The Empress realised with shock that Austria's cheeks were dreadfully, frightfully pale.

From that pale face, it was as if she saw dusty memories buried deep inside his heart flutter and awaken.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick opens up a bit about his ambitious intentions.

:: Two ::

_Three days ago, Berlin._

Frederick folded the letter into a long neat rectangle with practised ease, pressing it flat with slim fingers, before slipping it into a dull yellow envelope. Slathering some beeswax on the flap of the envelope, he carefully pressed his royal seal upon the wax. The king seemed to enjoy this mechanical labour, and upon the completion of his work, he extended his arm to better study his handiwork.

Gilbert lay stretched out on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. Frederick's self-absorbed actions reflected off his crimson eyes, and he gave a guffaw of amusement at his antics.

"You are unhappy?" said the young king, without looking at his friend.

"It isn't a matter of whether I am happy or not, only a matter of why you wanted me specifically to write that letter." He replied lazily. He'd planned to hunt deer in the Potsdam forest this morning, but the king had requested at the breakfast table for him not to go anywhere for one day. After breakfast, a draft had been shoved into his hand. "Copy this letter," Frederick had said.

Gilbert had lowered his gaze and read the title of the draft. It had said, Your Grace, the Duchess of Lorraine, Maria Theresa. Frederick had not referred to her as Queen of Austria, which implied Prussia's stance.

"I had you write it, naturally, because your handwriting is excellent." Frederick said. "That, and you already know that I sprained my wrist in September." He punctuated his sentence with a smirk directed at Gilbert.

"When you play your beloved flute you don't seem to feel pain of any sort. All right, old fellow, don't act like you know more than me – you're still a brat."

"Then why do you pretend you do not understand, my dear Gilbert?" The king's brown eyes were bottomless. "You know in your heart for whom you're writing this letter for."

A sudden silence came over the room. Gilbert stared at the twenty-eight-year-old king. Frederick had a pretty, delicate face, framed with soft fair curls, and his dark blue velvet jacket made his pale skin stark. Compared with his father, whose interests were in militarising the country, he evidently preferred to pursue literature and art. Before the age of eighteen, if he had a choice, he would never be holding a weapon. The truth was, it was only when he was having a portrait painted that his father would roar "Give him the sword and the flag!" and glare at his son to arrange his limbs into a heroic pose fitting of the bravest warrior.

"You've changed, Frederick – in the past you were more like a Frenchman, but now, you are a true Prussian."

The king shook his head. "No, I have not changed. In the past, there was not a moment when I was not fervently wishing that I was born on that patch of land, but now I know the blood that flows in me can only be Prussian blood. I chose to accept fate, nothing more. You should be proud, my friend. You once said that you hated Frenchmen the most." That was a smile so blinding it was unnatural, almost joking. Perhaps, the true intention of the speaker really was just to joke.

"That's right. I hate the French, especially that pretentious Francis Bonnefoy. But that is not the point, Frederick. I want to know what the heck are you doing this time."

Frederick did not answer, instead choosing to put down the envelope he had been playing with the entire time, and picking up the pen that Gilbert has just written the letter with.

"You see this?" His hand stroked the pearl embedded on the pen. In a moment, the youth who looked gentle and powerless ripped the gem from the end of the pen.

"Are you mad?" Gilbert leapt up, but his companion kept his face straight, held up the pearl between index finger and thumb, and went on.

"Pearls, they shall be set on your crown, just as certainly as ripe apples will fall from their branches upon the ground, or as surely the waters of a hundred rivers will converge in one ocean."

"I retract my previous words. You evidently still retain the goddamned theatrics of a Frenchman."

"Then allow me to put this another way, my friend," said the king, standing and coming before Gilbert. "If you like something, then seize it at once. Lawyers – those can be taken care of afterwards."

That pool which looked so calm was not water, but oil! Just one tiny spark could ignite it entirely, and spread uncontrollably. Raging flames flickered in the king's eyes. Gilbert could not help thinking that he was always stuck in a never-ending play with the other, and that in Frederick's eyes, everyone was an actor in that grand play, including he himself.

"Silesia, it is yours. That is just the first step." Frederick placed the pearl into Gilbert's hand. "Do not forget the promise we made all those years ago."

"To witness with my own eyes, the unification of Germany, whether it be during your lifetime or not."

"It was on that condition you allowed me to ascend to the throne." The king adjusted his tone, and asked, "What about you, my friend – how are you going to keep this promise?"

"You should know that I am not that careless with my life to throw it away to make unwise gambles."

"Thank you." The king let out a laugh like a gasp of relief. "Then, let the two of us pay a visit to the venerable Prince Leopold."

"Visit the old Dessau fellow? Now?" Gilbert sent a confused glance his way.

The prince of Anhalt-Dessau, Leopold the First, as he was come to known, was a great soldier of Prussia, with many victories and accomplishments under his belt. His sons were also great soldiers, who served Prussia well. Even at his age, he still had his vigour and wit with him, and his experience in war was unrivalled. He, along with Schwerin, were not only Frederick's teachers, but also his right-hand men.

"You are correct," said the king. "We need to move our pawns in the right positions, so that when the opponent makes their move, we can immediately perform an _en passant (1)_."

Gilbert suddenly felt that he had not understood all of Frederick's intentions or motivations. That letter was only the opening to his intricately plotted stratagems – a basic setting.

"Of course, we can only corner them to an extent," the king muttered to himself. "Once the pawn becomes a queen, things quickly become complicated _(2)_." Deep in thought, he drew out an old, battered pocket-watch. On the shattered clock face, the unmoving hands pointed forever to a moment ten years ago.

* * *

Footnotes, as included in the original work.

1\. It is a move in chess. It is a special pawn capture, which can only occur immediately after a pawn moves two ranks forward from its starting position, and an enemy pawn could have captured it had the pawn moved only one square forward. The opponent captures the just-moved pawn "as it passes" through the first square.

To perform this move, your pawn has to be on its fifth rank (i.e. five "steps" forward) and adjacent to the opponent's pawn. The opponent's pawn would have to be making an initial move, (i.e. the pawn has never been moved before) in order to move two "steps" ahead and for your pawn to make the capture.

So to put it simply, basically, Frederick is saying that if he places his pawns right (like, in the fifth rank in chess), at this moment ahead of time, then when Austria makes its first move (like the initial move in chess), its pawns will be captured by Prussia.

2\. Pawns can become any piece that is not the king or a pawn when they reach the far edge across the board from where they started. Usually, the queen is the chosen piece, because it can move anywhere, unlike other pieces that can only move in certain directions or certain distances.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is revealed, as Gilbert makes his way to Austrian soil.

:: Three ::

"'Dearest Duchess of Lorraine, Maria Theresa,'" read aloud Roderich, "'Being aware of our neighbouring kingdoms' reluctance to recognise your Grace's ascension to the throne, Prussia, as a part of the Holy Roman Empire, and also having signed the 1713 Peace Treaty, has no wish to cause unrest with other nations. However, after the Berlin Treaty of 1728, Prussia has not received the benefits promised by the late King Charles the Sixth of Berk Park, thus, has no liability to fulfill the conditions of the treaty of 1713. In this time of turmoil and instability, my own kingdom, too, has suffered the loss of a beloved and virtuous king and I myself am consumed by the sorrow of losing a parent. Thus I can sympathise fully with your Grace's turbulent emotions. Prussia offers our condolences at this troubled time, and would like to establish positive diplomatic relations with your nation. As you know, Prussia is a barren land of bitter winters, and the fruits of the earth that we can coax from the soil is pitiful. Therefore we would like to request for the fertile lands of Silesia to save my people. and also as a show of willingness to fulfill the benefits promised by the treaty of 1713 to support its continued validity. If such conditions are satisfied, Prussia is willing to lend its power to your kingdom, and fight by your side with all its resources and people…"

"What nonsense," Maria Theresa could not help but exclaim. "To mention the Berlin Treaty at this time, obviously they plan to seize what little benefit they can while we are weak and defenseless! 'No wish to cause unrest with other nations' - what, have they already forgotten the secret conference in Bavaria? I am sorry, Roderich, I interrupted your reading. Do continue. What else is written on the letter?"

"'...Ambassadors from Prussia will arrive in Vienna soon to discuss these matters in detail with your Grace. Yours sincerely, Frederick II, King of Prussia.'" Roderich raised his head, meeting the Duchess's questioning gaze.

"They have dispatched ambassadors to Vienna? Has he mentioned who he has sent?"

"No, he hasn't. I've already read out all that is written on the letter." Roderich handed the piece of paper to Maria.

"Those ambassadors - they should be people we're acquainted with," Maria sighed. "Is this letter written by Frederick himself?" She looked at the sprawling cursive on the paper, an ancient Central European style, which, to her eyes, was difficult to decipher.

"The signature is by his own hand. It is identical to the one on his other documents. But the contents of the letter itself…..." Roderich hesitated, but spoke his verdict. "No."

"But why?" asked Maria.

"It means nothing, my child," said Roderich. "The letter is written by somebody else – perhaps that exhibitionist king wished to disguise the guile of his heart with the beauty and elegance of penmanship." He shot a sideways glance at Maria, who was nodding in agreement. Roderich was somewhat reassured. _She doesn't know,_ he told himself. _Thank God, she doesn't know…_

Many years ago, before Maria Theresa had been born, this particular style of cursive handwriting had often been used. Roderich knew of one person, dwelling within Prussia's palace walls, who had such admirable handwriting. Despite him being a brash, reckless fighter who loved to mingle with the soldiers on the front lines in times of war, and whiled away his time in the forest in times of peace, rarely could anyone point out any fault in his penmanship. Roderich thought that he was probably not as rash or callous as he appeared to others. It was only because he was so unrestrained and sought for freedom so passionately, that he appeared so. The words he wrote were like a reflection of his personality. Within the lines of ink, it was as if you could see his silhouette, the flickers of a warrior atop a galloping horse.

_Gilbert Beilschmidt_ , they had known each other for too long, too well. Roderich was certain he had not recognised wrongly the handwriting on the letter. But what was the reason behind its appearance…?

* * *

"Why have you requested me to accompany you, Herr Prussia?" Maurits Leopold, had been born in 1712, the same year as the king, with an imposing air and a sonorous voice, and he put it to good use now. Although the carriage clanked loudly upon the pebbled forest path, it could not overwhelm his shout from entering the carriage. He was General Anhalt-Dessau's youngest son, raised in the army since youth. At the same time, as Frederick did not enjoy horse-riding or archery, he was Gilbert's good hunting companion. Old General Dessau came from a famed and great family, but he trusted his son and bowed to the whims and fancies of his young son. Maurits was a bold and forthright man, and Gilbert felt like he was a man after his own heart more than the brooding king himself.

Right now, Maurits was seated upon the driver's seat at the front, handling the carriage like the war chariot of an Ancient Roman warrior.

"God knows," Gilbert lay on his back on the carriage seat, but he had to clutch the seat with both hands in order to keep himself from falling off onto the floor. "Why the heck did he ask us two specifically to go to Vienna to mediate? And also specifically to take this ramshackle carriage that's about to fall apart…" shouted back Gilbert.

The carriage wheels caught on a shard of rock at the edge of the road and the entire thing shuddered violently, rattling the poor person within. Gilbert cursed violently, while Maurits only laughed loudly from his front seat.

"I would much rather have simply gone there on horseback!" cried Maurits. "I don't see why we have to take this shoddy carriage? Herr Prussia, do you understand King Frederick?"

"If you asked me," Gilbert said, "other than his sister Wilhemine, who formulates just as many plots as he does that nobody else understands, I would say that no one else knows what he's thinking." Gilbert stuck his head out from the window of the carriage, crying, "Maurits, stop the carriage! You brat, let me drive the carriage, and you can sit back and 'enjoy' the experience of being in the carriage!"

The wind whistled through the forest. In the descending dusk, Gilbert watched the white puffs of his exhaled breath whipping past him quickly. The road before him was silent and empty, and only the clanking of the horse's hooves and the carriage wheels could be heard. It was November, and the winter of Central Europe had arrived. Fallen leaves littered the road, its scent mixing with that of the earth, surrounding the entire world. In this season, many nobles brought their families to Venice to flee from the bitter cold. The south was not like this forest, where the bare branches of trees dripped with desolation. There, it was always spring.

The carriage had already left Bosnian territory and entered on Austrian soil. In the carriage, Maurits was studying a map, marking down the time on it.

"At this pace, we will be in Linz after two hours. We'll be just in time for a beer at a local pub."

"Then let's pick up the speed, while the sky's still bright … This goddamned weather is getting colder and colder. It's so wet in the forests, I worry that there'll be mist." Gilbert said, flicking the reins, shouting "giddy-up" to the horse.

"His Majesty has said that we should follow the five-day plan to arrange our itinerary. Today's just the third day. Tomorrow, at noon, we will reach Vienna."

"Had the wheel not broke in the middle of the way, we would perhaps be at Vienna's gate already." Gilbert snorted. Frederick had arranged a magnificent but impractical carriage for them, but on the same day they left, he had arranged for a messenger to deliver the letter that Gilbert had penned. Gilbert knew that the letter should have arrived in Austria before them. Frederick's intention for them to take the slower carriage was no doubt to allow Austria to have ample time to prepare for negotiation.

"Maurits, do you remember the landforms of the route we took?" Gilbert asked, somewhat absentmindedly.

"Of course I do. You know that I am from the Survey Corps, Herr Prussia. King Frederick has even asked me to mark our route and travelling time on the map."

So this was how he wanted to play this game…. Gilbert could not help but curse Frederick in his mind. To send a soldier to participate in a negotiation was never a good idea, especially when said soldier had a powerful family background but no knowledge whatsoever of diplomatic relations. But every move of the king's game of chess was not a desperate clutch at straws, nor was it some simple, trivial game. How optimistic he was on the outcome of this peace negotiation, how much had he gambled on said outcome, only the king himself knew. Maurits' extraordinary memory likely was not only intended to be used as a navigator, even though Maurits knew not of the king's plans. How many others had the king sent to other nations, Gilbert did not know. Frederick had never hid anything from him if he asked, but he also had not offered up to Gilbert his plots and thoughts. Frederick was careful, scheming, the Sphinx who spoke in riddles. Could Oedipus answer his riddles and guess the intention behind his words correctly every time? He was the chess player who controlled the fate of the game; everyone were his pawns, but who knew what place they held on the game board?

The dawn before they had left, King Frederick had tapped the carriage door with his slender fingers, smiling as he spoke, "Just treat it as a holiday to the south. Right now, that opera _Castor et Pollux_ (1) is showing in Vienna, a work much liked by that venerable teacher (2). You would not have such an opportunity in Berlin."

* * *

Footnotes, as included in the original work:

1\. _Castor and Pollux_ is one of French composer Jean-Philippe Rameau's most renowned work.

2\. He is referring to Voltaire, French writer, philosopher and historian.


End file.
